


losers weepers

by cheerz



Category: A Way Out (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Carol Moretti just barely mentioned, Explicit Language, Leo is like very competitive cause that's how them boys show affection, M/M, you can spot a praise kink if you squint hard enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25035931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerz/pseuds/cheerz
Summary: Leo was always a sore loser. A very sore one, at that, and he couldn't do nothin' 'bout it. He'd love to, though.
Relationships: Leo Caruso/Vincent Moretti
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	losers weepers

Leo was always a sore loser. A very sore one, at that, and he couldn't do nothin' 'bout it. He'd love to, though. Would've made sweet sweet childhood years way easier. No kid was that much into playing with him, no wonder: what's the kick when half the time a game of marbles'll end up in a massive tantrum? Well, no kid apart from Linda, 'course. God bless her, even though he still had no idea what business she had putting up with such a whiney pussy. What'd he do without her?

The big misfortune was, Linda wasn't always there to cheer on him. On one hand, huge shame she hasn't seen him take down fuckers twice his size like a lean mean killing machine he is, fuelled by pure rage and a touch of that she would have found it super hot. But then it wouldn't probably be one of his proudest moments if she witnessed him being beat at dips by a fucking bank clerk. What do they do at them banks anyway, getting jacked all day long, getting biceps like that?

"That wasn't so bad."

Vincent dusted his hands off, now letting them rest on his hips. Not in a too-confident way though, more like in an old man type of way. It was funny but not funny enough for Leo not to pout.

"Yeah, yeah, well," he'd never admit to pouting. Vincent apparently didn't need that, 'cause a smile had already kinda formed in the corners of his eyes meaning he'd noticed. "You're lucky I ain't at my best today."

"Oh, you aren't?"

"All this crap prison food gives me the trots. Don't you be laughin'! Just ya wait a couple of days and you'll be blessed too."

"Well then, we better get out as soon as possible."

"Oh yeah, I imagine you'd stink to high heaven."

Shit jokes never failed Leo.

His aim, however, did.

"What, you've never played horseshoes before?"

"Do I look like a hillbilly to you, man?"

The look he got back was unconvincing. Or maybe Moretti was kinda squinting from the afternoon sun. Anyhow, the look he got back was barely readable, like most impressions Vincent got, but Leo was already opposed to it just in case. He anticipated mockery.

"At least you landed in the square, well, a couple of times," said Vincent peacefully, observing the pile of horseshoes scattered around the barn. Leo tasted leniency like sharks did blood.

"Oh, eat shit, man, don't you go easy on me! Wanna rematch?"

"No need to get all defensive, bud. I'd love to but we better get going."

"Sure, sure, Mr Country Bumpkin."

Vincent was better at basketball too, and it started to drive Leo nuts. The bitch selflessly slam dunked the ball a couple of times before remembering he was pitted against a literal ten year old, then passing the ball back to him. Who was he tryna impress, a fifth-grader?

Alex was impressed still, and that kinda stung. Vincent watched him try (to no avail) to repeat his move with a sort of amicable smile.

"Do you need a lift?"

And that was just too much to handle.

"Back off, dude, get yourself your own son to lift! Giddy-up, buddy!"

They both watched Alex score one and when his lil feet reached the ground again shared an ambiguous look. To be fair, it was mostly Leo being ambiguous, all "look at him go, man" and "beat that, sucker" at the same time, and Vincent more full of whatever he was full of, watching quietly.

"You're very good."

"Yeah? Really, you think so?" Alex livened up all of a sudden, and Leo sorta bit his tongue. No idea why he thought he was bein' talked to. And a chance to have one good chat with Linda was may more worth than putting much thought into it, so Leo got back to her and forgot it all quickly.

What he didn't forget about was rematch, and it was worth putting all the Ray business aside for a couple of minutes. Well, sure, arm wrestling is no fooling around on a farm, you gotta be fit, you gotta be focused, you gotta make sure your hands don't sweat for fuck's sake. Leo himself was blessed with particularly unsweaty hands. Couldn't say the same about Vincent. No complaints, though, that pair of clammy hands saved his ass a couple of times to date, but boy oh boy were they going to be the guy's demise today.

Leo was feeling lucky. In fact, he felt particularly pumped. Any sort of manhandling would usually do, and that's as much action as you get with a bud who's so stable it becomes boring. Something told Leo Vincent wasn't the type for a friendly brawl. Shame.

Despite the huge un-clerk-like biceps, it really wasn't Moretti's day. He was kinda sweating already, not only the hands, all huffing and puffing like some kind of old dog who gets out of breath after a painfully short walk. Leo tasted triumph, and this time it was mostly construction dust with a tang of sand, but he was no picky eater. He grasped Vincent's hand firmer (funny how the gesture felt practically natural at that point), leaning it towards the impromptu cable spool table.

"Attaboy."

Leo swallowed, and his grip was lost. Before he knew it his hand was slammed into the wooden surface, and some of the guys watching roared in solidarity. Some grunted disappointedly. Yeah, thanks for nothing. He swallowed a bitter lump in his throat, picking at his earlobe which turned reddish.  
There's this thing called "emotional intelligence", and rarely could Leo call himself intelligent if he wasn't talking about feelings. He prided himself in being eager to read into the emotions of others or identify his own. This time, however, he plainly chose not to.

"You almost had it. Don't underestimate me."

"Ughhh, pure luck, I slipped!"

And that was even true.

"Hey Vincent, look! Connect four, huh?"

"Are you brain-dead?"

"I was just thinkin', maybe you're up for a game!"

"No, seriously, tell me now. This may be contagious, I don't want my daughter to catch moron."

"Alright, alright, jeez! Remind me to never suggest you anything fun, ever."

"Hey Vincent, check out what I've found!"

Moretti came along, again resembling an old dog. He did have this sort of walk, when he wasn't entirely convinced that what he was called up for was worth it, but came nonetheless, of course, 'cause he's a nosy lil shit.

"Cool, what's that?"

"It's an arcade game, c'mon, I'll show you. Don't cry if I beat yo ass, though."

"You can try."

Leo tried. To be fair, these ones weren't exactly his jam; if the hangar had, say, pinball, then he'd show Vincent what for. This arcade was, however, one of the newer ones, and Leo couldn't exactly get a hold of them.

"Nice," Vincent said as he scored. The fuck was even on the screen, what was that supposed to be, this kooky H-shaped thing? Leo started to dwell on that thought, and — who would've thought — missed one again.

"Fuck, this shit's slippery."

"Ain't that just the way."

Leo just brushed off the clear armwrestling incident reference and put his entire mind and soul into pushing the joystick fiercly.

"I'm a fucking pro, man, watch me!"

"The hell you are."

Scoring one felt good, and the acknowledgement of success he got back felt even better. To be frank, Vincent was many things, but he wasn't bad at losing, had to give him that. People say being a gracious loser is a sign of maturity, well, Leo thought that just meant you ain't competitive enough. They also say, second place is just first loser, y'know. Vincent clearly didn't see it that way. T'was weird, that was. Sometimes he looked like if he completely thought Leo to be an utter dumbass he'd play at giveaway.  
He got so lost in thoughts he missed another one.

When he was the first one to reach for the gun, a silly thought crossed his mind. "Finders keepers," he said to himself and aimed. The way he saw it, it was a split of a second, but in reality there was a quiet moment in there. Leo aimed at Vincent's chest, Vincent stood there, half on his knees. The shot was quiet, too. Maybe Leo was slightly concussed.

They changed their dispositions. Leo was the one standing now and Vincent staggered, backed off, slowly getting himself down on the ground. The bullet must've pierced the lung, hence the wheezing sound. A revolting sound. Leo winced. Vincent's face, however, didn't change much. It was the same pained expression he had for the past couple of hours. Back then Leo denied the pain, he was too hurt himself, but what use was of that now?

"Give my letter to Carol," said Vincent, and when he spoke there were these soft whistles again, and it was clear he spent near all of his strength saying that. The last bit went into raising his shaky hand. Not into passing the letter. Just. This small hand raise.

Leo took his hand. It was warm and sticky and with a piece of paper trapped between their palms. He really did listen. Leo was sure the letter would've helped a bunch. May even help better now. No it won't. Nothin' makes up for your dead husband. Still, Leo clung to the letter and clung to Vincent's hand.

They locked eyes for the longest time, and before Vincent let go, and his gaze drifted, Leo saw something in there. A certain fondness of sorts.

**Author's Note:**

> well well well this is the first thing I've written in years and it had to be some very niche videogame shit, who would've thought!!


End file.
